107 Days of Insanity
by AllMonstersRHuman
Summary: Saturday, October 31st 1987 was the day his 69 days of freedom started. Thursday, January 7th 1988 was the day it was supposed to end. Funny how one person's existence can delay the inevitable. He got 107 days of freedom. She got 107 days of insanity and a lifetime of Krayziness. Bronson 2008 X Legend 2015 crossover.
That day was the first day she didn't feel absolutely ridiculous in her work attire. Though she felt her outfit was a bit risqué to be answering the door to children in. It still made her feel like less of a spectacle. A small lopsided smile lifted one of her cheek muscles into a plump curve while she watched costumed little ones run down the townhouse's walk. Halloween had always been one of her favorite holidays. A tiny sigh of contentment exhaled from her into the early evening, pluming a faint cloud of fog as she leaned against the open doorway.

"Come come, gather round my pets! I have some wonderful news!"

The exclamation made a more aggravated huff leave her. Her eyes closed and she hung her head briefly while her forehead furrowed into an exasperated expression. As though she dreaded what wild proclamation her employer was going to decree next.

"Fanny come away, close the door. That droft is ghastly."

Her eyelashes rose and her lace-trimmed apron came into her down-turned view. Another few seconds were allotted for her enjoyment as chilly autumn air swept by and raised the fine hairs on her bare arms. Each precious increment of time was used to arrange a pleasant mask on her face and dislodge the fingernails that were digging into her palm.

"Yes Mr. Peterson." she dutifully replied while shutting the oak door.

The thick-heeled pumps on her feet echoed through the meager entranceway with every begrudging step. She leisurely made her way toward the parlor, elongating the twelve paces from one doorway to another. The elderly man waited until she appeared just inside the archway and diligently clasped her hands behind her back.

"Very good, well then. I have wonderful news my pets." he began as his cheerful smile swept across those who readied themselves for a droning tangent or an outrageous endeavor. "My nephew, Michael, has recently been relieved of her Majesty's grace. He will be joining our party."

A heavy blanket of foreboding was lifted from her shoulders and replaced with a forgotten lighter one. The small assembly applauded. Scandalous murmurs erupted amongst the women almost at once while she stood by silently. The rumors were well known. The papers featuring headlines of chaos, madness, and violence were framed amongst the halls. He was a legend within those absurd walls. She'd not gone one day under its roof without hearing his name.

"Fanny, prepare a room for my favorite nephew, he shall be arriving shortly I do believe."

Her demure "Yes sir, right away sir." answered though she did not do as she was told.

"Very good, hop to. Put a bit of wiggle in that jiggle while you're at it my dear."

She ignored his insult while moving to draw the curtains and turn on the crimson tinted lamps that were customary for the approaching hour. She'd been under the deviant man's employ for two full weeks, almost three. The eccentric order of things in his household had eventually become routine for her. Everything from the setting for each time of day to the context in which she was to be treated. Once the heavy velvet drapes were arranged the way he preferred she laid a kind hand on his smoking jacket and bent at the waist to discreetly address him from behind the couch.

"Jack you told me about your nephew at lunch, remember?" She did not wait for an answer because she knew he would not recall the conversation. Just like she suspected he would not recollect giving the speech he'd just finished once said nephew arrived. "There aren't any available rooms left. Miss Magnificent has an empty bed in hers. But I don't think that's the best arrangement. Think of the pain in the ass it'll be if we get a new girl in and have to move him."

She'd been thinking more along the lines of what would happen to the cross-dresser when she inevitably hit on Britain's most violent ex-prisoner to date. She hid it tactfully.

"I made up the spare bed in my roo- ah..theee.." She paused, searching for the words he preferred her to use. "..the servant's quarters for your nephew instead."

"What if I should fancy another maid?" he illogically protested, his grayed head turning back toward her slightly.

The way his head moved worked to her advantage as her lips lightly brushed against the shell of his ear while she spoke.

"You don't need another maid. I keep up with you and the ladies just fine. What you really need is another money maker. Not another person to pay." She breathily whispered the last sentence and applied light pressure to the shoulder her hand laid on. "Besides, I'm the best there is, that's why you hired me."

A feminine scoff sounded out from the armchair to their left while his wrinkled hand captured hers.

"Of course darling." he crooned while placing a kiss on the top of her hand.

She firmly removed her skin from his lips and wiped the back of her hand on her apron while a grimace threatened to flash across her face. A haughty voice came from where the affronted sound had originated.

"Oh please. You hired 'er to make the rest of us look bett'er compared to 'er Jackie."

Everyone laughed. Including her, on the surface.

"Right you are Alison, my dear." he chuckled, reaching out to pinch the back of his maid's lightly dimpled thigh as she passed.

A startled squeal left her that had to be forcibly morphed into a playful one. Her hand shot back to swat at his unwelcome fingers whilst she rushed to get out of reach. She couldn't help the regrettably playful retort that slipped out as a light knocking at the door provided her an excuse to flee.

"That's totally bogus. You wouldn't be scratching at my bedroom door every night if it was true."

More laughter echoed after her and she was thankful such outbursts were allowed as long as her tone held humor in it. She understood the part she was meant to play in Mr. Peterson's obscene day-to-day screenplay. And she'd played it well most of the time. Until the jokes had begun to wear down her restraint. It was a careful game that took balance. A precocious situation that she feared many before her had failed to endure.

Her spirit lifted a bit when she opened the door to reveal more miniature masked beggars. She dropped a sucker in each of their pillow cases once they were done with their little rhyme. Again she lingered in the open doorway, unable to imagine the man they were expecting. She tried picturing the hulking monster the papers had described, visioning him coming up the secluded quiet lane. The moment Jack had gotten off the phone with his brother and relayed his nephew's release to her, a tight knot of apprehension had formed in her gut. The manor house was home to many unusual characters but she was afraid the very foundation would buckle under the weight of too much sheer insanity under one roof.

Somewhere behind her she could hear Jack's droning words floating to her about how in his day "Hallowe'en was nothing more than bobbing for apples and wearing sheets over one's head. Lot of fucking spoilt prats." A nasty remark about a different form of sheet wearing set Miss Magnificent off into a cursing fit. China clattered as though someone's tea had been spilt and the general commotion of a scuffle came next. The din made her eyes roll. During which they landed on a switch beside her, just inside the door. She flicked it without second thought and extinguished the red light that doubled as a signal to customers and trick-or-treaters for one night only. She had a feeling there would be no patrons that evening thanks to the pubs brimming with scantily clad women. And the, though endearing, knocks from youngsters were wearing on her last nerve. Every time she fulfilled her duty in answering the door she got a prickling of fear and excitement. The past few hours had been a nauseating rollercoaster of unease.

"Fanny!"

The pet-name she despised made her cringe and grip the doorway hard enough to make one of her knuckles crack. If not for being called away to clean up yet another mess, she would have spied the outline of a bulky man. One with a purposeful stride making his way across a patch of road illuminated by the distant streetlamps.

"Coming sir."

Whatever squabble that'd erupted had been settled. Everyone was making nice as she headed for the obvious dark circle on the carpet. She'd begun blotting it with a hors d'oeuvres napkin when her least favorite occupant asked a redundant question.

"What is boogas supposed to mean?"

"Rubbish." she snapped in the redhead's general direction.

"Why not jus say rubbish ya silly bint?" Alison lazily drawled while she smiled sweetly and looked down her nose at the maid.

A quiet sigh of aggravation left her at her own slipup. They all took any chance to pick apart her unfamiliar slang whenever it slipped into her sentences. Especially Alison whom was particularly hung up on her pronunciation. Her lips pressed together in a hard line and she pushed harder against the absorbing wetness.

"Be sure to fill everyone's _cock_ tail when you're through there Fanny. Wouldn't want anyone to run dry. It wouldn't do." Jack ordered with a sweep of his hand, leaning forward to view all the uniform's sweetheart neckline had to offer.

"Yes sir, right away Mr. Peters-"

Her voice was overshadowed by a thunderous rapid pounding at the door. The prolonged abnormal rhythm and the strength required to make such a racket couldn't be mistaken. Her eyes shot upwards and met with the ones ogling her. A delighted smile stretched his lips while hers fell agape with shock. She'd half thought he'd fabricated the entire phone conversation, unable to believe the man had actually been declared sane.

"Well bloody hell, go an answer it. Don't leave the boy out in the cold." he commanded with a insistent motion toward the foyer.

Another round of erratic pounding made her scramble to her feet. Each thud sounded more impatient than the last. The light switch belonging to a clear colored bulb was quickly flipped and she braced herself for what was to come. She'd pictured him beating on the wood with the underside of his fist and was surprised to find a set of red knuckles raised at her eyelevel when she opened the door. His hand abruptly dropped and the sudden movement made her take a step back.

He simply stood there staring blankly at her for a second. A slight crease between his eyebrows formed as his gaze slid down her ill-fitting uniform. It disappeared just as quickly as the flash of a smile he gave her next. The friendly gesture was so brief she could not be sure it'd actually happened before his empty expression returned.

"W-welcome, please come in." she stammered as the sounds of his uncle's approach reminded her of her task.

She tried not to stare when he stepped inside the threshold and wiped his feet with more force and dedication than necessary. Her lips pressed together tightly to squash a laugh. In an odd way it looked like he was doing a dance of some sort. Once he was through he did not step inside further as was expected when someone entered a home. A murmured "excuse me" ended up being necessary along with an extension of her arm towards the hall in order for her to shut the door. He stepped forward with an inclination of his head as though he'd understood after milliseconds of staring at her flabby outstretched arm.

"My stars, fuck me inside out." came an astonished voice as she fastened the locks and turned to see her employer nearing them.

The large man raised a hand in greeting and the same whiplash of a smile emerged again. It lingered longer this time.

"Come in my dear boy, you're just in time for _cock_ tails."

Long enough for his uncle to invite him in and walk away. The sound of other voices seemed to make him hesitant. When he didn't move she lifted her arm towards the doorway Jack had disappeared through. Gently guiding him without physical contact as the gesture coaxed him forward a step more.

"You'll realize pretty quick every hour is cocktail hour for them." she quietly told him with a small smirk.

The tendrils of her standard up-do bounced when her body jarred at the short booming laugh he released. The fear left quickly and her eyes squinted in a mirror of his as her grin grew.

"Can I take your bag for you?"

The response to her innocent offer made her fright return tenfold. His stern exclamation of "No!" sounded outraged. His easy smile had morphed into a glare in under a second. She hadn't made any move toward his suitcase but it was swiftly ferried into his other hand. As to purposely put his body between her and it. His empty hand curled into a fist. She moved a step back and her shoulders hunched in a subconscious bid to make herself look smaller. The way her eyes widened appeared to be what made him reexamine his reaction. His blank stare returned. After a lengthy audible inhale of air his hand unclenched and rose to adjust his tie.

"No, ..no thank yew." he softly corrected himself, almost as if he were talking to his temper rather than her.

She curtly nodded to him and spared a final guiding gesture of her hand before leaving him behind to enter the parlor. One of the joints in her knees cracked as she knelt down to continue tending to the spot. It rang through the room because at that opportune moment the guest of honor stepped in and everyone went silent. Her eyes rolled upward as she kept blotting and an announcement much the same as the first one started off.

Mickey's gaze drifted downwards after quickly sweeping the room. It landed on the fleshy legs that protruded from a swaddle of white lacey petticoat. The maid leaned forward and her bottom left its seat on her heels. Giving him more unsightly flesh to take in. His eyes were tracing the red rippling lines on the backs of her thighs with disgusted fascination when his uncle's words of men in women's clothing disrupted him. His head snapped up and he stared at a select few of the ladies with a disturbed expression.

When he was invited to sit down it struck her as odd that he chose to make his way to his seat by passing Assie. Rather than the end of the couch that did not have someone blocking his way. His comprehension of the predicament he'd walked into was visible to her as he struggled to pass the elder woman, accidentally knocking her in the head with his suitcase while he did.

"Fanny 'ere'll get you a _cock_ tail." Jack assured him, bending over to ruffle her skirts and pat her backside before she could straighten.

"Fanny?" Mickey echoed with a befuddled expression at her title that raised one side of his mustache as he curled his lip.

"You can call me Nancy if you'd like. That's my real name." she explained while she mixed his drink and Miss Magnificent constructed a fruity umbrella sculpture to decorate it.

"No he may not. Your name is Fanny tha fat American maid." Alison insisted as cruel humor edged her soft voice. "Refill my cocktail while yer at it, Fanny."

Nancy cringed and bottled up a sigh. Whenever new people were in attendance the dainty woman always made sure to call attention to her weight and horrible moniker. More often than not the guests joined in, tossing their own abusive jabs as she was forced to laugh along with them.

"Yes ma'am."

As she carried a tumbler of gin and his drink she caught sight of Mickey's un-amused expression and a wave of relief washed over her. He was narrowing his eyes to scrutinize the freckled woman while Assie emphasized just how excited she was so meet him by pressing her bosom to his arm. Practically resting her chest on him in an unwelcome way that sent his head darting in her direction.

"Honestly, how can you be so daft." Alison sneered, crossing her legs and adjusting her red dress. "Say it properly."

"Yes, m _a_ ' _a_ m." Nancy retorted as she bent to refill her glass, purposely putting more emphasis on her A's.

"M _o_ ' _o_ m."

Mickey's attention was yanked back their way as the two ladies continued their grammar debate. His uncle boxed him in on the sofa's third cushion and gave him a delighted grin. The older man's enjoyment of their squabbling was quite clear.

"Ma'am.."

They both leaned into each other a bit every time they pronounced their favored version of the word.

"Mo'om!"

"So you're saying you want me to call you mom now? Okay." the maid finally snapped, her knuckles white with aggravation.

Nancy clutched the neck of the tumbler harder and resisted the urge to smash it into Alison's fluffy burgundy head.

"No, I'm not your bloody mum!" she snapped back before shooing her away. "Just dash it all."

As per usual when the larger woman walked away to deliver their guest his drink she had another remark to add.

"You'd think the lazy cow'd 'ave it by now after bein' in the country a month."

At the same time Mickey was muttering a "thanks" to her and his uncle was chuckling at Alison's antics.

"I learned how to make a mean cup of tea pretty quick, didn't I?" she shot back, rising her eyebrows in challenge for her to say otherwise.

A flip of dark rosy hair at her was all she got. Assie took the pause in dramatics as an opportunity to turn the meaty man's attention back her way.

"Jackie tells us you're quite a celebrity on the inside." she cooed, draping her arm around his broad shoulders despite how crowded he already looked.

Mickey nodded affirmatively a few times, fiddling with the decorations on his glass to avoid having to look at her directly. Nancy shook her head at the forward woman while returning the tumbler to its place. More napkins were grabbed from the bar and she resumed her position on the floor. She was reaching for the portion of the spill farthest underneath the coffee table when Alison shocked her into gaping like a fish.

"That's a complete turn off." she stated matter-of-factly while twirling a piece of hair around her finger. "Your face rug." she elaborated when the man she was addressing looked at her with confusion. "Be like kissin' a fanny."

Nancy's mouth dropped open unseen and even Jack gave Alison a disapproving look. The bang of the back of her skull smacking against the wood made Mickey's eyes dart down to her quickly before his Uncle steered the conversation in a more positive direction with complements. She was poised and waiting for an outburst as she sat up and rubbed the throbbing area on her scalp. It never came. For the most part his head merely bobbed in agreement while his eyes traced the portion of her body that was visible. Her face flushed thanks to the mortifying amount of cleavage her uniform exposed and she tried to discreetly tug the bodice higher. She was shocked he'd let such an insult pass. She puzzled over the reaction she'd received compared to the one Alison got as she leaned forward to press one last napkin on the nearly dried spot.

"Funny innit it, ow some'ime a fat bird ken 'ave a pre'ier face 'en a skinny one..." he mused with a twitch of his mustache.

Her eyes bulged and a snort from trying to repress her laughter shot from her nose before she ducked her head back under the table. Laughter from others in the room sounded out and Mickey beamed at the acclaim. The cackles simmered down and a few seconds of awkward noises filled the air while Alison recovered from the snub. A bolt of realization struck Nancy and her head was just as quickly popping back up.

"Hold on, you said 'like kissing a fanny'." she asserted with an accusative finger pointed at the disgruntled woman. "What does fanny mean? What have you all really been calling me?"

More snickering sounded out and this time Alison joined in due to it not being at her expense.

"Don't make me ask someone at the market again like I had to to find out what the hell a box was!" she fumed as her eyes passed from person to person.

"Same." Mickey grunted out when her dark orbs passed him, calling them back to his blue ones.

The way her face pinched in confusion made him add a bit more to his explanation. But not much.

"Means tha same."

"The same as a box?" she asked with a slight incline of her head at him for confirmation.

His nod made an outraged gasp leave her.

"So you've all been calling me a pussy going on three weeks now? Great! That's just fucking great!" she raged, glaring at the women around her until her head turned to Jack.

A loaded rise of his grey brows forced her angry face to rearrange into a tight-lipped smile. Fake light laughter bubbled from behind her clenched teeth. She set her eyes back to the dried patch of carpeting so she could maintain her self control. Mickey's head tilted while he watched her roughly scrub a square of paper across the carpet. Her face was growing redder by the second. It bewildered him how she held in her rage. Even more so as to why she did not release it.

"Eh big boy." Alison purred out to attempt reclaiming his attention. "What does the future hold for Michael Peterson?"

Nancy didn't know if the question was purposely designed to punish him for coming to her defense. But as she glanced upward she could tell he was not pleased to be put on the spot. His head bobbed in out-of-place nods that didn't make sense as an answer. Thick nervous fingers tapped against his suitcase and his eyes wandered around until they landed on the drink in his other hand. Using his nose to nudge the fruit out of the way he took large gulps to avoid having to give a real answer. She watched his eyebrows rise in surprise and he pulled the drink away from his mouth to look from it to her.

"That's _very_ strong.. S' wonderful."

"Strong cocktail fer a strong man." Assie implied alluringly while her hand slid to lay on his inner thigh.

"Ambition is the virtue of all great men." Jack remarked while he rested his hand on his nephew's other knee. "Michael is going to join us my pets."

While the aged man reiterated his decree a third time the maid began gathering the soaked napkins. And the rolled remnants of paper that'd resulted from taking her anger out on the carpet. More cracking joints filled the air while she got to her feet and Alison seductively assured Mickey he could stay as long as he liked. The uncomfortable way he was wiggling his legs to shake off the unwelcome hands did not go unnoticed by Nancy.

"Would you like me to show you to your room now, sir?" she offered, taking pity on him.

The speed with which he shot up from the striped sofa made her chuckle lightly under her breath. She led the way briskly to keep the tips of his shoes from catching her heels with his jolting stride. Until she realized the slapping of his shoes against the floorboards had stopped. She turned to find him examining a framed newspaper on the wall.

"Thas me." he beamed, pointing a finger toward the mustache-less mugshot of his nineteen year old self.

She doubled back with the waste still cupped in her hands, coming close enough to see his first headline of mayhem.

"Your uncle is very proud of your…accomplishments." she tentatively told him. "He framed his favorites but he's got a whole scrapbook I could show you sometime if you'd like."

A bob of his head and a squinting smile told her he was quite pleased with himself too.

"Gunna make a name fer meself." he announced as she pushed a swinging door open with her shoulder and they entered the kitchen.

"How, if you don't mind me asking?" she hesitantly inquired as she padded to the trash can.

"Fightin'."

His explanation did not startle her, rather the close proximity of his voice. She hadn't expected him to follow her while she made a detour to empty her hands. Her body snapped upright from the bent position she'd been in to make sure all the pieces went where they were supposed to. When her head turned she found him expectantly waiting for her reaction.

"You mean like boxing?" she asked while heading toward a scarlet door opposite the one they'd entered through.

Her question went unanswered as she opened it and turned the switch at the top of a short set of stairs. Instead a murmur of cockney-accented lyrics accompanied their footsteps while they descended.

"I sees a red door 'n I wan et pain'ed black. Na colors anymore, I wan them ter turn black…"

Nancy's brows scrunched together with worry at his unusual behavior. She made sure to smooth them out before turning to face him. In what little time she'd observed him she realized she'd never before encountered someone who viewed and interacted with the world the way he did. He'd trailed off in his little song when they'd reached the bottom and gone stock-still. Staring off at the brick and mortar wall ahead for a few seconds. His head began slowly turning to view the rest of the open space. She realized how alike to a prison the basement looked with its bare walls and high rectangle windows.

"Feels loike tha Pope in Rome."

She took a moment to decipher what he'd muttered and hypothesized that the similarities were a comfort to him rather than an upset.

"There you go." she announced with a raise of her hand toward the bed across from the stairs.

Mickey's head snapped towards her as though he'd suddenly remembered she existed. His eyes followed her to a bed against a wall opposite the one she'd gestured to. The large painting of a forest situated at the head of her bed caught his attention before something else clicked in his brain.

"Ya said yew was showin' me ta my room! W'eres my f _u_ ckin' room? I want my room!" he bellowed, looking from her bed to his.

The sudden boom of his voice in the quiet made her jump as she kicked her second heavy heel off. He was looking at her like she'd lied to him and spat on his mother's grave in one fell swoop. Her wide eyes darted to the transition of his free hand to a fist and she hastily tried to explain.

"We don't have any empty bedrooms here and I don't think you want to be cramped in a room four times smaller than this one with the lady in the white dress. Especially when she has customers."

"Wot yew know 'bout wot I f _u_ ckin' want?! Eh? Ya said my room an I want my f _u_ ckin' room!" he raved, pointing a demanding finger at her.

She unknowingly, fearfully, retreated a couple steps until her gartered thighs pressed against the wood of her dresser. She bent her toes into the rug that spanned her bedroom area. Cracking them all at once with her weight to relieve the stress in her arches as she thought about how she was going to reply. She was quickly learning that surprises and unexpected things, even the smallest ones, could upset his mood radically.

"Look, I'm sorry. I misspoke." she began, holding her hands up peacefully. "I said 'your' when I should have said 'our'. It was a figure of speech. Jack likes me to talk formally when I'm up there. I'm sorry if the way I worded it made you expect a private room. I didn't mean to mislead you. I apologize."

He gazed at her with scrutiny as though he were considering whether or not her apology was acceptable and thorough enough. His expression still looked unsure and unconvinced but his head turned from her portion of the space to his.

"I'm upstairs working most of the time and I don't make a lot of noise when I am down here. I can try to rig up a curtain across the middle if you want." she offered before a deep exhausted sigh rattled her chest and she continued. "Or you could go up to the second floor and take a look at your other option. It's up to you."

He didn't give any reaction as though he'd heard her. Eventually she stopped waiting for one and flopped down on her mattress. Laying her arm across her eyes in the attempt to fight off a headache. She heard a few shuffling footsteps and then an unexpected chuckle.

"Right then, ya won'a be my cellmate? You 're my f _u_ ckin' cellmate."

The words were spoken in an amused tone. Like she'd been begging him to stay and he was doing her a favor. One that made her lift her arm and peek over at his sudden good mood. She glimpsed him smiling down at his bed. His happy expression quickly disappeared and he began unsnapping the clasps to his suitcase. Not wanting to make him uncomfortable by getting caught she returned her arm to its resting position and focused on enjoying the time off her feet. She got ten seconds of peace. Then an excited question came her way.

"Yew know Paul?"

Nancy hadn't expected any further conversation. He didn't seem like the chatty type to her. Mostly because he'd barely spoken all of ten words in the parlor.

"No. I don't know anyone in England besides Jack and the ladies."

He made a repulsed sound while she also heard drawers opening and closing.

"Most of 'em 're faggots in dresses. Why ya call 'em all ladies?" he wondered aloud, going on to mutter to himself, "Aint right. F _u_ ckin' loonies."

Her arm flung off her scowling face and her head rolled to the side so she could confront him directly.

"Because they're all human beings who deserve happiness and respect. And if what makes them happy is wearing women's clothing and being addressed as women. Then I'm going to respect that." she explained while fighting to keep the condescending edge from her voice. "…and it's part of the job."

Nancy had been looking right at him. She knew it was coming thanks to the way he tilted his bald head back a little. His cannon blast of a laugh still made her startle.

"Bleedin' heart type a bird 'eh?" He chuckled before his tone turned soft toward confusion. "Even though they don give ya tha bloody same?"

She took a page from his book and answered with a silent gaze that was returned. The distant ringing of a bell made her break their staring match. Her eyelids slowly closed out of aggravation and a forceful sigh blew through her nose much the same.

"Paul's gunna help me make et big. Knows tha right blokes fer settin' things up." he informed her, tracking back to where the conversation had begun while kicking the empty suitcase under his bed.

"That's nice, I hope it works out for you." she monotonously replied as she swung her stocking-clad legs over the edge of the bed and bent to grab her shoes.

Rather than have to take more painful steps in the impractical things she carried them to the stairs. The silver tinkling traveled down from the open door again. Making her clutch the railing harder than necessary as she climbed the first step.

"Oi!" Mickey's sharp bark made her jump and turn. "Why yew let 'em piss all over ya loike that?" he questioned with a finger pointed up above.

There was a burning look in his eyes that challenged the repression in her soul. Something about the tilt of his head dared her to do something about it. The rough motion of his body gesturing upward stoked the tiny flickering flames of violent urge to life. She took a breath and her frown deepened as her rational thinking doused the temptation with logic.

"Also part of the job." she admitted before pointing out, "Jack doesn't charge me rent and I get meals here for free on top of what he pays me so I can't complain." She quickly went on to change the subject and climb another step. "There's leftover fish and French frie-..er..I mean chips, from dinner if you're hungry."

"Con't eat that rubbish!" he declined disapprovingly though he hadn't eaten anything since the prison's dinner the day before. "Need protein 'n veg'tables."

Nancy's eyes quickly swept over his suited physique and understood why.

"You're going to have to talk to Jack about getting what you need put on the grocery list. All those people eat is fish and chips and cocktail fruit." she informed him with a wave of her hand up toward the doorway. "I don't understand how they don't gain weight like crazy. They don't drink straight water either, just tea and booze."

A grunt and his nod freed her to climb the rest of the stairs. She remembered something important and backtracked a step to close the door in front of her. Even though the cursed bell was ringing for her a fourth time.

"Down here I have one rule.." she began, regretting her choice of words when he gave her a murderous expression. "…ah..I mean..not really a rule, just a request. But it's an important request."

"Fanny!"

The screech of her title made her unleash a bit of her pent up rage.

"I'm coming god damn it!" she roared through the crack she opened before slamming the door shut.

She turned back to find that smile on his face once again, his bulging arms crossed over his chest, threatening to bust the seams of his suit jacket. "Gon, out wit et."

"If you're the last one in at night please make sure you lock this." she requested while reaching out to touch the slide bolt lock that was screwed into the back of the door.

The hysterical laughter that erupted from him made her raise a confused brow. He was laughing so hard he'd bent over and braced his hands on his knees, his cackles edging toward unhinged at their climax. She waited until he paused for air and raised her other brow so she appeared expectant rather than judgmental when his eyes climbed to her.

"Yew-" he started to say until more uncontrollable laughter stopped him. "Yew won 'ta be locked in 'ere wit me, 's that right? 'R all Yankee birds ballsy nutters loike yew?"

Nancy threaded her fingers through wispy pieces of hair to rub one of her temples.

"I'd rather be locked in here with you.." She hesitated briefly to carefully choose her words. "..than have your uncle able to do inappropriate things to me in the middle of the night while I'm sleeping."

"He's old. Sometimes he gets confused." she added for precaution.

She wanted to outright call Jack a pervert but she feared offending the man's nephew.

"Right." he acknowledged, bursting out into more fits of chuckling before his mouth abruptly snapped shut so hard she could hear his teeth clank together and he stared up at her silently.

"Okay.." she awkwardly replied, swinging the door open with one last look at him. "..back to work for me."

Nancy left him as another hostile exclamation of her nickname sounded through the kitchen door. She let out a light growl and bent to slip her heels on. The mandatory staples of her uniform thundered against the wood floors, her stride expressing her anger. Another fresh puddle was waiting for her and Alison's glass was suspiciously empty.

"I trust you've made our guest comfortable, Fanny?" the old man inquired as he pulled a cigar from the pocket of his paisley jacket.

She'd been on the verge of replying while walking to the bar to fetch the gin bottle when a male voice answered for her.

"More comfor'able 'en a tallywacker in a tart."

Mickey's lewd jest earned him a round of laughter from everyone present. His hands shoved in his pockets and he looked around at everyone with a pleased expression as he lingered in the doorway. A few of the ladies whispered to each other and stole lustful looks at him. Alison's gaze in particular made him fidget in an unsettled way as the maid refilled her drink.

"Erm.." He cleared his throat and jolted forward as though he'd remembered something important. "Uncle Jack, wouldn' happen ta know a bloke named Paul? Deals wi' managin' underground affairs. Bit of a ponce."

"Ah, yes my dear boy. I've had my ear to the ground for you and I know just the fellow you're looking for." he informed him, reaching over to grab a scrap of paper from a side table as Nancy bent to light his cigar for him. Jack muttered a "thank you my dear" to her and turned back to his nephew. "You may find him at this address."

He gave a nod and murmured "Brilliant brilliant brilliant." to himself while he read it. Folding it twice he slipped it into his pocket and announced, "M off ta kill tha Queen." He turned on his heel at the last moment, almost causing Nancy to bump into him on her way to Alison's vindictive spill.

"Ow do I look?" he asked her, his bulbous knuckles coming up to clutch the lapels of his lightly patterned suit.

The question took her aback. She stepped away to look him up and down properly. His shabby outfit was well put together but over a decade old. It worked quite well in his uncle's time capsule of a home where they were perpetually stuck in the swinging sixties. But outside in the rad world of the eighties he looked more than a bit outdated. She settled with a safe answer.

"Strong." she advised with a reassuring nod that garnered her a squinting smile and a friendly pat to her shoulder that made her stumble to catch her footing from its force.

She watched him leave briskly. The places on her skin that the narrow, puffy, sleeve to her uniform didn't cover tingled with the waning warmth of his hand. Nancy was a bit dazed and it took more than one impatient snap of someone's fingers to get her to focus. She blinked twice and turned to see Alison pointing downward toward the spot beside her chair. A nod of comprehension came from her and she knelt to tend to it.

"Mr. Peterson your nephew has requested a special diet. I informed him that any additions to the grocery list were to be run by you beforehand." she let him know while diligently soaking up pungent alcohol from the rug.

"Procure whatever he should wish my dear. As well as a new uniform or two for yourself. I do believe they shall be reduced on tomorrow's first of November. You've managed to make that thing quite naff with your expanding waistline and clumsy ways." he decreed, sipping at his glass of sherry with an amused lift at the corner of his mouth.

She ground out a "yes sir" through her teeth and continued patting at the puddle before her knees. Nancy had hoped that in the event that she soiled the costume enough, she'd be able to wear actual clothing during her workday. As she went through her fourth fully soaked napkin, she was led to wonder if the woman looming above her had purposely spilled her entire glass the moment she'd led the object of her faint interest away.

"Tha two of you seem ta get on well." Alison mused contemptuously, her crystal goblet idly swirling in her outstretched hand above the raven-haired woman's down-turned head.

"Yes ma'am." she pointlessly replied out of obligation.

Nancy began to ponder what exactly 'getting on well' with the man in discussion entailed. She supposed, perhaps, that his inclination to yell at her more readily could signify his being comfortable enough with her to do so. Or it could have simply meant the sight of an attractive woman such as the one above her had flustered him into stifling his true nature. She could only imagine how years void of contact with the opposite sex had effected him. Let alone years with minimal human interaction during his time in isolation. She'd resigned to the notion that her lack of physical attractiveness was what made her easier to interact with when a trickling sensation rolled down her scalp.

One clear droplet rolling down her forehead became a stream and suddenly her entire head was doused. She sucked in a disbelieving gasp and let it out in a shaky violated breath. Her hands clenched into fists and she stayed deadly still. Her head remained bowed as she took in slow, deep, breaths and alcohol dripped from the flyway curls that normally framed her face and neck. A terrible feeling she couldn't name throbbed in her chest and she screwed her eyes shut to prevent gin from entering and tears from exiting. Mickey's earlier words echoed through her mind and she realized the feeling was self-loathing. She hated herself for allowing them to abuse her all she had already. Just as much as she hated the people themselves and the knowledge that it would start over again the next day.

Her mouth opened and closed without sound as everyone around her enjoyed her torment. She didn't raise her head. She didn't yell or cause bodily harm the way the dainty laugh above her made her long to. Instead she stiffly reached for another napkin from the stack beside her and continued soaking up the doubled mess. Refusing to join in with their guffawing or to give more of a reaction than she already had.

When she left to retrieve the carpet cleaner from its place underneath the kitchen sink their stinging quips drifted after her. She caught her pitiful reflection in the darkened window behind the basin. Everything staring back at her, from the droplets falling onto her shoulders down her saturated hair to the bloated heaviness in her face, revolted her. She loathed the person she'd become physically and mentally yet she lacked the will to change. A defeated sigh left her mouth and she turned away.

Once her task of removing the piney scent from the carpet was completed she returned to her typical pose. Standing by with her arms restrained behind her. She looked at no one. Her rigid gaze pointed straight ahead at a undesignated spot on the wall until she was commanded to refill Alison's drink a third time. Nancy desperately wished the time would move faster as holding everything inside became harder with every passing minute.

"Fanny, you smell like a dreadful walking _cock_ tail. You are relieved for the rest of the evening." Jack announced with a flippant dismissive hand waved at her. "Make sure to wash your delightful arse before you turn in, my dear." He added with a suggestive undertone in his voice that implied he was requesting her cleanliness for his own creeping benefit later.

She managed to keep it together long enough to gather her toiletries and nightclothes. But the moment she closed the bathroom door behind her, broken sobs echoed within the tiled room.

* * *

Nancy was stretched out stomach-down on her bed when her roommate returned later that night. She glanced up from the drawing pad situated in front of her chest as his footsteps pounded down the stairs. He was absolutely beaming with positivity. The largest smile, and what she suspected was his most genuine expression of happiness she'd seen yet, was elongating his mustache. Murmuring she couldn't decipher interrupted his cheek-bursting grin periodically while he paced between his bed and the wall. His fists shot out here and there, shadow boxing thin air with swift motions that made her eyes widen a bit at his prowess. The seams to his suit were hanging on for dear life with every swing.

He must have realized this because his abrupt stop was followed by the hasty loosening of his tie. The suit jacket and waist coat came next along with his trousers and dress shirt. Her mouth slackened an inch and she was lucky drool didn't leak out while she surveyed his undershirt and brief clad body. Even more so as the thin cotton joined the rest of the pile on his bed. She forced herself to avert her eyes down to the black lines in front of her when she realized his thumbs were moving to hook into his briefs.

She busied herself with putting the scenery she'd just viewed to good use. Her photographic memory recited every muscular curve as shoes being kicked off and a drawer being opened sounded out. Her eyes itched to take a peek but she kept them on the creative task at hand. Instead her ears followed every sound he made. She cleared her throat to remind him she was present out of common courtesy.

"Ah! My cellmate!" he cheered, delighted to see her more than she thought was necessary. Her eyebrows rose and she lifted the hand at him in greeting that wasn't occupied with dragging a stick of compressed charcoal across paper. She kept her eyes down-turned in case he was still comfortably nude. "Got me my firs fight tomorra!"

The closeness of his good news made her startle and wonder why she hadn't heard his approach. The corners of her mouth rose to match her brows and her eyes warily lifted to the fine hair on his stomach. She was thankful for the waistband of grey sweatpants that cut across the plunging line of his hips. Her hungry orbs climbed over the plane of pecks up to his grinning face.

"Congratulations, I'm sure you're going to knock him dead." she replied as she held the pad as close to her chest as she could without besmirching her white nightgown.

His head bobbed confidently and the crinkling of his eyes deepened at her assessment. A few seconds of uncomfortable silence passed with his fingers tapping away at the aluminum underneath them. He leaned over the railed frame of her bed and she backed up onto her knees, preventing him from looking at the rough sketch. "Wha's that ya got 'ere?"

Nancy's slightly damp hair swept forward to act as a protective curtain while she shyly murmured, "It's not done yet."

Mickey's eyes moved from the shapeless gown covering her plump body to the artwork behind her bed. It had a slashed rip across the center that'd obviously been patched from the back with tape. He entered her space further, drawing up next to the head of her bed to inspect it closer.

"Yew do this?" he questioned, scrutinizing the oil painting of evergreens and misty mountains.

While he was busy running his fingertips over the ridges of paint she discreetly scooted away to the bed's opposite most edge.

"No, I only work in black and white. Color makes things too complicated for me. I found it in somebody's trash and saved it." she admitted, her head turning back slightly to watch him through the strands falling in her face.

His hand recoiled and a grimace of disgust wrinkled his expression. She watched him retreat to his side with his head shaking at her.

"What's the matter? Half the furniture in this room is something someone threw out. I'm saving every penny- er..pence.." She corrected herself. "So I can get the hell out of here as soon as possible and get a real job."

"'S f _u_ ckin' garbage!" he sneered, looking suspiciously at the dresser he'd used moments earlier and various other shabby furnishings in the space.

With him a safe distance away she laid the pad down and resumed her position, not responding to his outburst. More sounds of movement filled the basement and she minded her own business, keeping her eyes on her work to deter from watching him. A repeated creaking eventually got the best of her along with his muttering about screws interrupting his workout earlier that morning. A glance deduced that his bed frame was the cause. Its metal groaned out every time he lowered his body to the floor with his palms braced on the frame. Its built in springs created the creak every time he pushed himself back up. As seconds went by she realized she was staring and again forced her eyes away. His speed increased and her head shot up toward the ceiling. Horror colored her face as it occurred to her that the sounds of his exercise could be mistaken for something else by the drunken people up above. Realizing there was nothing she could do about it she resumed sketching. Half an hour later she was adding fine details and shading to the piece. While soft grunting eventually replaced the creaking as a cherry on the sexually misleading cake.

"One question and then I'll leave you alone the rest of the night." she bargained though he'd been the one to start up their earlier short conversation. He paused in the middle of a push-up and looked at her expectantly. She took it as permission. "Do you prefer Mickey or Michael?"

"Charlie!" he boomed enthusiastically, his fitness-focused face cracking into a prideful smile. "Charles f _u_ ckin' Bronson!"

She cocked her head a little but didn't question it. She had a feeling he would explain anyway.

"'S gunna be my fightin' name." he supplied as his rippling muscles continued lowering his chest to the ground. "Best git used ta et. E'erybody's gunna know my name b'fore I'm through."

An agreeable nod of her head was given to him before she lowered her attention back to the paper. "Charlie it is."

Two hours passed before Charlie was satisfied with his exercise. A deep rumbling snore called his attention to the overweight woman's bed. She'd passed out with her face laid next to the drawing pad, toes tucked underneath her pillow at the opposite end, arm slung out across the page as if to protect it. As he silently padded closer he took in black smudges peppering her arms, the mint green bedspread beneath her, and her slack jaw. Like she'd been carelessly dedicated while working on the art, unconcerned with what a mess she was making of herself. Her fingers were completely blackened and a piece of charcoal rested centimeters from her open relaxed hand. He reached forward and wrapped his fingers around her wrist, lifting gently with the intent to look at what she'd created.

The soft warmth encased in his hand blindsided his focus. The drawing was sitting down there uncovered and easy to view. But just like that, in a millisecond he'd forgotten it. He could feel her pulse underneath his fingertips and it pulled him in deeper. Charlie couldn't recollect the last time he'd touched another human being like that. Sure, he'd punched a guard any chance he'd gotten but this was a different kind of skin to skin contact. One that unnerved him and made him want things that confused him.

His mind floated to the stripper he'd viewed earlier that evening after his meeting with Paul. He shook his head at himself as he realized that image didn't fit with what he was feeling. It wasn't lust. He couldn't put his finger on it. Couldn't pin it down as it wriggled around inside him. His other hand came up to pet her arm languidly while he tried to sort out his thoughts.

It didn't have to do with the basic feeling of flesh cradled in his hand, it had to do with the person inside the flesh. The way she'd figuratively tiptoed around him had amused him, her jerking reactions to him even more funny. He reminisced back to the way the other occupants had treated her and it clicked. He'd always fought for the underdog. And she was as 'under' as it could get in his opinion. He didn't necessarily like her, he thought her a bit spineless in a way, to be honest. He liked the person he thought she had the potential to become with his help. But in order to build her up anew he had to break her down.

With all that sorted out he nodded to himself and patted her wrist lightly, his eyes moving down to what had originally brought him there. Not letting go he picked it up with his free hand and let out an impressed laugh. Nancy didn't know what loud noise woke her but her mind automatically jumped to Jack. She assumed he'd once and for all found a way to get past her lock. Before her eyes could shoot open and adjust to the light a firm grip around her upheld wrist registered in her alarmed brain. She yanked with all her might and forced whomever had a hold of her to stumble half a step forward into the bed frame. With the amount of slack she gained she was able to get her legs under her, providing the ample strength of her large calf muscles to push her further up the mattress. She wasn't looking at who snared her, she was focused on getting to her pillow as she drug someone else's body along with her.

"Jack I will fucking cut you!" she growled as her fingertips brushed what was out of reach to grab and the fingers holding onto her let go.

Charlie didn't know why he held on. It was just an automatic reaction to something slipping through his fingers. Though he continued to do it for his own amusement after she proved strong enough to pull him forward while he was unaware. He let go when the railing at the foot of her bed threatened to crush his genitals if he allowed her to haul him over it any further. The sight or her whipping around to face him in a crouch with a kitchen knife held out threateningly made a hearty laugh rise from his chest. She was panting for air and her eyes were fierce with panic, jumping from his face to the closed door at the top of the stairs and then to the pad now held in both of his hands.

"Wot yew gunna do? Shank me?" he humorously asked with a shake of his head.

Her breathing came down in small increments, her unrestrained glare boring into him while she gave her head a shake of its own. It took a few moments for her rigid pose to relax and her heart to stop pounding in her chest. She watched him pace while he inspected her artwork and muttered too low for her to hear as if he were having a conversation with himself. He eventually stopped at the foot of her bed and faced her with a serious expression that she couldn't discern from mad or impressed.

"This right 'ere is f _u_ ckin' magic!" he declared, smacking the page with his hand for it to come away with sooty residue he didn't notice.

His sudden toothy smile radiated approval as his eyes lowered to sweep over the image of himself again. He brought his pointer finger up to lovingly trace the air above his chosen name. The rippling ribbon of a banner behind it presented the fighting title like a grand announcement. In some way he took the drawing's resemblance to legitimate boxer's poster as a sign of his future success.

"Even got me trophies in 'ere." he noted, referring to the various scars his body held with a wave of his hand around his head.

Nancy's forehead dropped into her empty hand and she rubbed at the pounding migraine within. Her fingers moved down to the bridge of her nose and then to swipe from the middle of her upper lip outward over her cheeks. She tried to vent her aggravation through her nostrils and it didn't work. The knife was petulantly chucked over onto the night table beside her bed. The clank of it made him look at her as her hard expression lifted to him.

"I loike yew, you 're funny." he lightly asserted with a thick finger continuously pointing at her. "'M usually the funny one. Right?" he continued as his finger tuned on himself. "Bu' you 're a differen' color a comedian."

Instead of bursting into a lecture on how rude it was to touch people while they're sleeping, one that could potentially set him off. She stomped her way to the bathroom. Her bare feet smacked against the cement with each step to end in a slammed door. She let out a muttered "son of a bitch" as she took in the sight of herself in the mirror above the sink. Her head darted down to her blackened hands and then back up to her grubby reflection. Amongst other patterns she sported a charcoal mustache similar to his. A sarcastic snort left her and she bent to begin washing up. When she was dried and done she took a moment to brace her hands on the basin and look herself in the eye. She wasn't picking her reflection apart like she normally did. She was wondering to herself how she was going to survive the human embodiment of insanity waiting outside. It was only the first day after all.

She took a deep breath and readied herself. Her hand crept toward the doorknob and after a few seconds of hesitation she got the courage to turn it. As soon as Nancy came out a question was flying at her from the shirtless man perched on the edge on her bed.

"'Oo 're all 'ese people?" he questioned as he flipped through the pad's pages from back to front where his likeness was proceeded by empty pages for the future. Charlie noticed the differences between her earliest work of an older woman and her latest masterpiece. One particular image that'd been drawn right before she'd joined his uncle's household made him stop browsing. "Oo's this bloke 'ere behind tha lady mens? Nick. Oo's he?"

In a daring move she grabbed the pad and tried to pull it from his grasp. He looked up at her and a smidge of surprise showed on his face. She looked about ready to explode but he wagered she was still too scared to tell him off. Nancy proved him right when he jerked it back and she gave up, letting it go. He watched her wordlessly reach for the nearby nightstand drawer and the pack of cigarettes within. Charlie waited until she'd set out an ashtray and taken her first deep drag to scare the living daylights out of her.

"Tha f _u_ ck do yew think you 're doin' pollutin' ma lungs wif that rubbush?! Eh? Git outta 'ere! F _u_ ck off!"

He could've sworn she jumped a foot off the ground as he blasted his voice at her full volume at close range. She made him fight the grin threatening to spread across his face. He was becoming accustomed to her brown eyes widening at him in a way that plainly called him crazy. He was expectantly waiting on the day her lips would as well. Her timid "okay" disappointed him and his mustache twitched with thought as he watched her disappear through a door. After a few ticks he followed to find a set of stone stairs leading up to a pair of cellar doors what were flung open. Each step he climbed revealed more of her figure and the ghostly gown flapping around her in the wind.

Nancy was inhaling her fourth puff of stress reduction when a large hand shot out beside her. It covered hers and pinched her cigarette between its index and middle fingers, pulling outward to snatch it away.

"You 're mad at ol' Charlie now, eh?" he teased as he brought the stick to his lips with it squeezed between his thumb and forefinger.

Her mouth dropped open at his absurdity. She could not believe what she was seeing. He stood there giving her a look that dared her to say something while smoke billowed from beneath his mustache. He blew it right in her face, acting as though he hadn't forced her outside for health purposes. She struggled to form words and what came out were unusable syllables. Her sputtering ended with a deep growl. Nancy's arms raised and fell in a defeated gesture and she turned, leaving him in the backyard.

She found the drawing pad on her bed with Miss Magnificent's portrait facing up, the jagged remnants of a torn out page overlapping it in places. Unconcerned with what he'd done to the drawing of himself she hastily shoved the booklet into its shelf. The charcoal was tossed along with it as she heard the sound of the cellar doors being shut. By the time he'd entered through the rear door she was under her covers with her back to him, pretending he didn't exist. A knowing chuckle left him and he padded over to the light switch at the bottom of the stairs. She listened in the pitch black as the springs to his bed creaked and a relieved breath left her. Sleep offered a reassuring reprieve from his insanity and she was determined to drift off, adjusting her position to get comfortable.

"Right then. You 're gunna be mean ter me? 'M gunna be mean ter yew. I'll show ya f _u_ ckin' mean, _cellmate_." Came his quiet voice in the darkness before he began singing God Save the Queen.

Nancy's eyes shot open. She wrenched her pillow from beneath her head with another growl and she laid it over her ear. Adding her arm for an extra sound barrier as he sang louder. Up above, beside the red kitchen door. The ringing of a telephone was drowned out by Charlie's _lovely_ singing voice.

* * *

The inmate shook his pomade-slicked head and slammed the receiver down into its cradle. Disappointment rumpled his handsome features. He despondently addressed the HMP standing guard beside him.

"Right… Yeah, er-. Mach ob'liged, Jerry. Try again tomorra. Right? Back ter tha cage."

As he was accompanied to his cell Reginald Kray contemplated his plan of action. He found himself wondering if all the effort to free them was worth it. He had nothing left to live for on the outside. Aside from being reunited with his brother. Even that held little appeal to him in light of Ronald's unmanageable insanity. And the measure of blame he held against him for the events that'd ruined his life years ago. He knew there was a highly likely chance that they'd end up right back where they were at the moment. But Frances' angelic voice spoke to him in harmony with the chains clanking around his feet. She told him he had to try.

The bars slid closed behind him and he whispered to himself, "Oi will Frankie, promise Oi will."

* * *

 **Author's note: First off-** _If I have any British readers I apologize. Feel free to give me any pointers on Charlie's cockney accent. Or the East End twin pains in my ass that'll be more heavily featured in the future. (Ronald's accent is going to be the bigger challenge out of the two for me to write.) Same goes with British slang. I've spent hours reading through lists and I still don't feel well versed._

 _-I struggled with whether or not I should write this story seeing as two of the main characters are closely based on real life murderers. 'Closely based' who am I kidding? It's a fucking biopic! My conscience is eating at me for it. And I keep telling myself 'it's the Tom Hardy versions you're writing about' but we know the truth about who they're modeled after. The only 'original Kray' details that'll be present in the fic is Ronald's bisexuality and a turn of phrase here or there._

 _What ultimately convinced me I had to write this was the Bronson quote Hardy slipped in there as Ronald. (The little speech he gave Frances while walking her to her cab.) It may just be me but I could have sworn in the scene where Ron is dancing to Frank & Nancy Sinatra's song Something Stupid he says "Oh yeah, that's a piece of me." which is almost the same line Charlie says as he's overlooking the art or, the "piece of him", he turned the art teacher into. I'm not sure if that's just a common British expression, or not?_

 _Mr. Salvador doesn't pose the same moral dilemma for me. He killed a dog in a fight for pay and has said it was something he's not proud of because he loves animals. But he's never killed a person. (Not that I condone the dog.) There will be personality traits, beliefs, and quotes from the 'original Bronson' featured through out the story. (To which I own nothing. Really I own nothing but the OC.)_

 _-I respect Mr. Salvador's new-found non-violent lifestyle, change of name, and wish to leave his violent past behind. I wish him the best on his upcoming oral appeal this April 13th._

 _-All three Hardy characters will be involved with the OC in some context. I won't tell you what context because I want to keep you guessing._

 _-Some events of abuse that will be depicted are from my past personal experience. Some of the overall themes for the story are tied to things going on in my life right now. I.e. my struggle for better health and self love. (It's just a wonderful tie-in that one of the main characters is pre-established as very fitness oriented.) I've come to realize while I may not be very good at writing, it's helped me to deal and cope with certain things. Past and present. I didn't realize it until recently reading back to some of my other work._

 _-If you spot inaccuracies, such as Mr. Salvador having been released in real life on October 30th, not the 31st. They were done on purpose to fit the story. I struggled to figure out how I was going to fit the Krays in it since their story took place in the early 60's and by 1974 young Charlie was being thrown in prison for the first time. I still haven't figured it out. Especially because I'm not fond of the 80's. I don't know. Just roll with it?_

 _Longest author's babble ever. Thank you for reading._


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